


The Steadfast Tin Soldier

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: ACD Fics [14]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-The Empty House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15964940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Watson is surprised to find a tin soldier in Sherlock's travel-worn jacket





	The Steadfast Tin Soldier

One afternoon, after everything was over, after Moran was in custody, after we had returned to our rooms and our life had begun to resume its former shape, I found myself going through some clothes of Holmes’s looking for a favorite pen I was certain he’d put into his pocket.

I picked up a jacket, frowning a little as I noticed how worn it was. My heart skipped a beat as I realized this must have been one Holmes had carried with him on his… travels. I should have put it down, not right to go through another gentleman’s possessions, after all, at least not once I was certain my pen wasn’t there, but as I shifted the garment in my hands I felt something odd in the pocket.

Curiosity got the better of me, I must admit, and I reached into the pocket and pulled out the object.

Turning it towards the light of the fire I was surprised to find it was a little tin soldier, the sort most little boys played with at one time or another. The soldier was worn and scuffed, his paint faded where it wasn’t missing. I realized it must have been in that pocket for quite some time. But why on earth would Holmes carry such a thing?

A noise made me look up and I found Holmes watching me from the doorway. Realizing I was caught red-handed I carefully put the soldier down on the table.

“Your pen is tucked into the novel you were reading last week,” said Holmes, voice strangely rough as he walked over, picked up the jacket, and hung it back where it had been.

“My apologies,” I said automatically.

Holmes didn’t reply, but he came over to me and pick up the tin soldier, holding it almost reverently. The only thing I had ever seen him hold so tenderly was his violin. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think I was witnessing something intimate. But it was only a toy soldier, wasn’t it?

Silence hung heavy between us and I felt compelled to speak. “You must have carried that for quite some distance.”

“Many miles indeed, Watson,” he said quietly.

“Something you picked up on your journey?” I asked, knowing I should be silent and let him have his secrets, but driven by curiosity.

He sighed and looked at me as if I was missing the most obvious clue in the room, and then walked over to put the soldier back into his pocket. “Never hurts to have a soldier by one's side,” said Holmes.

I blinked as the pieces slid into place. “Ah,” I said. I looked at him, seeing the way he held his shoulders, not looking at me. “You missed me.”

“I did. And as I said, I did not realize how much my loss would affect you.” Holmes stayed half turned away.

I squared my own shoulders, nodding to myself. Second chances come few and far between and I would be an idiot to waste mine. I crossed the room, hesitated for only a heartbeat, then reached out and wrapped my hand around his wrist, feeling his pulse, strong and quick and alive.

“Watson?” he asked, turning towards me.

I screwed up my courage, gently pulled him down and leaned up to kiss him.

He stiffened in surprise, then melted beneath my lips. We wrapped our arms around one another and if it was me holding him up or he holding me, it was hard to tell.

He pulled away after a few moments, his eyes bright as he studied my face, worrying his lip in his teeth. “I am certain,” I assured him.

Holmes broke into a smile and leaned down to kiss me again. I held one of his hands in both of mine, grounding us both even as I licked my way into his mouth.

He moaned softly, a beautiful sound to my ears. My cock stirred as I wondered what other delightful noises he might produce.

“Come, Holmes,” I said, leading him out of the front room and towards the bedroom, his being the closer one.

He obediently trailed behind me. My own heart thrummed against my chest. I wasn’t entirely certain what would happen behind closed doors, but it was an adventure I would be delighted to see through.

We entered the room and I closed the door behind us, looking at him.

Holmes stepped towards me and then slipped his knees, leaning forward to nuzzle me.

I moaned softly and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as he opened my trousers with trembling fingers.

“We don’t have to,” I said softly, catching his slender wrists. “Only if you wish it.”

“My dear Watson, there is nothing I want more,” he said, smiling gently as he leaned forward to bestow a kiss to my cockhead.

“I thought of you,” I admitted. “Before you… left. And after, I thought of the things I didn’t say. The things, perhaps, I should have.”

He looked up at me and rest his head on my thigh. “I am sorry.”

“I know.” I ran my fingers through his hair, mussing it. “And I am not angry with you.”

“I must admit I don’t entirely understand why you are not.”

“You see but you do not observe,” I teased gently. “We have another chance, you and I. I would be a fool to squander it on anger or pride. If it’s not Moriarty or another criminal, it could be a runaway hansom or a fall down the stairs. I’ve nearly lost my life more than once, and losing you… it nearly cost me again.”

He blinked up at me, then surged forward and kissed me hard, toppling us back onto the bed. “Don’t say that,” he murmured. “If I had returned and you were not here…”

“It’s the what if’s that will drown us if we’re not careful,” I said, running a soothing hand down his back. “You are here and I am here and that is what is important.”

He raised his head and studied my face. I could see the words on the tip of his tongue, the hesitation, the fear. I smiled softly and leaned forward to kiss him again. “I love you,” I whispered.

“ _John_ ,” he said my name like prayer, closing his eyes. 

I kissed him again, soft pecks to his lips, feeling the solid weight of him on top of me. His hands ran through my hair. We were home and we were safe.

**

Much later that night we sat in our customary chairs by the fire, wrapped in housecoats. Holmes smoked his pipe and looked at the fire, lost in thought. 

I put aside my notebook and got up, going to his worn jacket. He stirred and watched as I took out the soldier and carried to the fireplace, setting it on the mantel next to a magnifying glass. 

He smiled and moved to my lap as I sat again, tucking his head against my throat. I was here and I always would be, holding him gently, the steadfast soldier he always needed.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter and tumblr at merindab
> 
> Yes, it's titled after the Hans Christian Andersen story. But mine has a happier ending. The original always makes me cry.


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